


Release

by KestrelShrike



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: ABELLAN, Archery, F/M, finally he gets to feel her up, like about time amirite, trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archery is extremely sexy. Please believe me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

Pull back. Release. A series of repetitive movements, uncomplicated, rooted deep in her memory. It was freeing.

“May I join you?” Shiral turned and smiled, before straightening her face, trying to appear as impassive and impartial as possible. She and Abelas stood on such uncertain ground, taking one step forward and then stalling. She was certain of their friendship, but what if everything else had been a series of escalating mistakes? There should have been a book to explain how to turn a friendship into something more, how to tell if the signs were there. Somehow, Swords and Shields failed to do the job. 

As it was, there were a few extra bows out. She had been wanting to try firing something a bit heavier, but it would work well for Ableas. “Please, join me. Did you shoot much?” At the Temple, there had been other Elvhen with bows, but Abelas had not been one. Still, given the weapon’s importance to the Dalish, there had to be some historical root. Archery ran through their collective blood. This she knew to be true, though she thought that deep inside, Abelas still saw the Dalish as degraded, lesser than his own people. It was something they would discuss one day. Maybe they weren’t so busy trying to figure out how they stood in each other’s eyes. 

Abelas picked up a bow, hold it loosely for a minute before nodding and selecting a few arrows. They weren’t cut for his length, but they would have to do. 

“I have not shot for many years. It was not my weapon of choice, but I had studied it when I was younger.” Another time and place. What did younger even mean to Abelas? At that moment, Shiral felt so very young. It was not a familiar feeling, not entirely welcome given the weight of so many lives that hung heavy over her head. 

Slowly, Abelas pulled back the string. He anchored it somewhat incorrectly, too far past his mouth, which was slightly downturned in concentration. When he shot, his arrow took a wobbly, parabolic flight and landed to the left of the center of the target. His frown deepened. 

“You’re too strong. You draw past where you should.” Shiral smiled, trying to ease the impact of her words. It didn’t seem right, that she should be giving him advice, but he did not object to it. Abelas merely nodded, a frown still set on his face. It did not suit him- his smiles were far better, transforming him into pure sunshine. 

A devious little thought tickled the edge of her mind. If he was willing to listen, perhaps he wouldn’t question her advice, even if it had a strange element to it. 

“It would be easier for me to see what you’re doing if I could see your shoulders and your back.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. If Shiral could see how his muscles moved, where they became taut and where they relaxed, she could diagnose the problems with his shot much better. 

“Are you suggesting I remove my shirt?” Maker take him! Abelas was so difficult to read, but she thought there was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice, but he had learned to keep his face so impassive. 

“It would help me see why your shot went so far to the left.” Shiral maintained a tone of innocence. There were certainly no ulterior motives behind her request. None at all. 

There was a moment of silence. Her heart began to sink. Had she crossed a line? The day she had braided his hair, he hadn’t seemed to mind being shirtless in front of her, but that hadn’t been a request, had it? Then, gloriously, he stripped off his simple linen over shirt, and picked up the bow again. She thought she saw one corner of Abelas’ mouth turn up, but his back was to her as he shot again. 

“Shoot another. I must watch more closely.” His shoulders were so broad, every bit of him perfectly muscled. How had he maintained it through all those years? How could he keep it when he rested for so long? It was another mystery she would have to ask about. Perhaps Dorian would know, or could venture a guess. They had a shared appreciation for the male form, after all, and Abelas managed to take the male form to new and exciting levels. 

As Abelas drew back and released, his back muscles barely moved. “You draw almost entirely with your arm. You have to use your back. Concentrate on moving it, so that the entirety of the shot is felt through the length of your body.” 

Feeling bolder now, Shiral stepped forward so that she stood close to Abelas, close enough to feel the exertion heat from their bodies meeting. 

“When your back moves, your hand follows through. You should feel it brush against your face, never losing contact. It should brush from your mouth to past your jaw.” Lightly, she traced the path on his face. He did not flinch away, and the half smile she had thought present earlier was certainly there now. 

“Another shot. I should feel your back move against my hand.” Shiral firmly placed her palm against Abelas’ back. It was pleasantly muscled, the heat rising from it a counterpoint to the chill that constantly lingered in the air here. 

He exhaled before drawing back, body slowly growing taut. This time, he drew the bow using his back, and when he released, the muscles contained to move perfectly, pushing back against the force of her hand. Shiral smiled and stepped away to face him. 

“I am starting to remember.” There was a light to Abelas’ face that she had not seen before, an excitement that looked slightly foreign, as if he was not quite sure what he should do with his face. Should he smile, or should he maintain his stoic demeanor? His guard slipped in her presence, as it always did. 

“It comes back to you, doesn’t it? The body doesn’t forget. Sometimes I dream it, and when I wake up, my body feels like I’ve been shooting all night.” His excitement spread through her. It was better than teaching the yowling Dalish children, half feral and unwilling to sit still long enough to learn properly. It was a rekindling of passion, a discovery that something you once loved is still there after all. 

“There are other things the body doesn’t forget.” His arms were around her in an instant, and she wanted to protest that he had not put his bow down nicely, that hers was still in her hand, but his lips were on hers and it made far more sense to return it than to complain, and then she had dropped her own bow. She broke away for a moment. “You’ll pay for that.” He laughed, a low rumble she could feel in his bare chest as it pressed against hers, and she made him pay in nibbles and teases, by guiding his hands to her curves. 

His grip on her arm tightened. They broke away again, just for breath, though their foreheads touched still. “I hope you don’t grip your bow so tight.” Every time she spoke, he sought to shut her mouth, to stop her glib words in the way he best knew how, so that she could no longer speak. 

When they stopped, seemingly a mutual decision, they stood intertwined a moment longer. If they had an audience, neither cared. It was a release. 

“Shall we shoot again?”


End file.
